Monster Magnet
Powertrip

THE REVIEW

When I was five years old, I wanted to play the drums and have two Californian blondes dancing to the rhythm of the music, one on my right and one on my left. I vividly remember imagining two bikini-clad chicks licking, rubbing, and doing whatever, while I lay in my bed.

One day, in the kindergarten courtyard, I had a tasty acid-laced snack with a friend, and that's when this idea was born in me. I irrevocably decided that when I reached a certain age, I would start a band with bikini dancers. Unfortunately, when I reached the right age, I discovered that someone in America had already brought my project to life. This was the trigger for my childhood traumas. Driven by interest and envy, I decided to listen to the music that others had stolen from me. I was then shaken by the sensually penetrating and brutally psychedelic atmospheres of Powertrip. Those damned guitar riffs wedged themselves into my synapses and led me to total hypnosis. My neurons stiffened, becoming as hard as granite, and then shattered into pieces with every beat of the bass drum. I decided to hang up every type of mescaline and lysergic derivative.

Today, years later, despite the acid abstinence, that band and that album continue to hypnotize me, leading me into the deepest recesses of the underground, where hundreds of bikini girls abandon themselves to wild orgiastic rituals, paced by the sonic wall of four devils. Fire, flames, burning dollars, cars, monsters, monsters calling you, monsters drawing you in, magnetic monsters, semi-nude women, nude women, rock, rock, rock, trip, powerful trips and Dopes To Infinity.